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I nod and unlatch my seatbelt with trembling hands before opening my door. He hops out and jogs around the side of the truck. He puts his hands around my waist, lifting me out. His hands linger for a moment, his eyes meeting mine.
I avert my gaze, terrified I'm going to get caught in his piercing eyes again. Terrified he's going to find what he's looking for in mine because it's there. Right fucking there. And that scares the shit out of me.
This is just sex…right?
Unease slides through me, twisting in my stomach when I realize I'm not sure that's true. I'm not sure if it was ever true.
He sighs, the sound barely audible, and then gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear before stepping back.
"Come on," he says then, slamming my door and hitting the locks.
I walk beside him, my heart still thumping hard.
What is he doing to me? What does he want from me?
I'm a little afraid to answer either of those questions, so I don't. I push them from my mind, refusing to think about them or what they mean.
"How did you find this place?" I ask quietly, glancing around.
The building is painted yellow, blue, and green, but the bright colors have begun to fade. The sign out front is weathered. There are two other cars in the lot, and that's it. Without the delicious aromas coming from the restaurant, I never would have guessed the place was still open for business.
"I stumbled across it right after I bought the condo," he murmurs, leading me up the sidewalk with a hand on my lower back. "Tourists haven't found the spot yet, so it's quiet. I like that."
"Why?" I blurt as he holds the door open for me. I meet his gaze, genuinely curious.
Before he can answer, an elderly man pops up. He's barely any taller than I am.
"Hola, señor, señorita," he says, ushering us inside. The smile on his face reflects in his warm brown eyes. It softens his leathered face, too. "¿Coma esta?"
My mouth waters as I step over the threshold. The entire restaurant smells like spices and meat. My stomach growls loudly at the delicious combination, reminding me that I haven't eaten anything all day.
After Roman fucked me in the shower, I passed out. With the storm blowing outside and his body caging me in, I slept hard. When we woke up, the sun shining brightly outside as if a storm had never passed at all, he informed me that we weren't having sex again today and that he was taking me out for dinner. My stomach was in knots the minute he said it, making it impossible to eat.
Roman responds to the host's question, Spanish rolling off his tongue like he's spoken it his entire life. He probably has. I tried to learn, but wasn't very good at it. Whatever he says has the host nodding and smiling though.
I glance around the restaurant, knots in my stomach growing. The place is small and intimate. Little chandeliers hang over each table, but the light they cast is minimal. The booths are deep, the high backs offering nothing but privacy. The place is painted much more demurely inside than it is outside. The inside is also in much better condition. Everything is neat and clean. Aside from a busboy rolling silverware into napkins at one table and our elderly host, we're the only two here.
Our host grabs two menus from the counter and motions for us to follow him. Roman puts his hand on my lower back again, leading me through the restaurant. I try to follow the threads of conversation as he talks with the host, but with his hand on me, I lose track completely.
How does he do that to me? How does he unravel me just by touching me? It's exhilarating and nerve-wracking at once.
By the time the host stops at a booth near the back of the dining room, my body temperature has climbed ten degrees and my mouth is dry again.
"Thank you," I mumble, sliding into the booth.
Roman's hand slides across my back and then my hip as I move. I jump, but if he notices, he doesn't say anything. He slides in across from me and the host lays our menus in front of us before saying something else in Spanish.
Roman nods, and then the host walks off, telling us that our waiter will be right out.
I barely notice him leaving. My gaze is focused on Roman. He's always seemed so big to me, but seated across from me, he appears even more massive than usual. Like an ancient warrior, larger than life.
My head comes nowhere close to the chandelier, but his threatens to bump into it every time he moves. His shoulders are broad, his white shirt stretched over his muscles, straining to encase them.
God, he's gorgeous.
"Did you play football?" I ask him when my body temperature shoots up another degree.
He cocks a brow at me like he isn't sure where the question came from.
